


Best Get Started

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Should I Stay? [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Companion Piece, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Greg loves Mycroft down to his smallest freckle, M/M, Mycroft is body-shy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Originalgay1895 commented on C'mon and Let Me Know and asked if Mycroft ever wore the pajama pants. Here you go...





	Best Get Started

**Author's Note:**

  * For [originalgay1895](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originalgay1895/gifts).



> Read "C'mon and Let Me Know" first or this will make like, no sense. Well, it will make some sense, but it's my favorite fic I've ever written and I'm proud of it so go read it please.
> 
> Edited to add: Somehow AO3 uploaded this twice, so I'm taking down one version and adding this to the series I created for "C'mon and Let Me Know," called "Should I Stay?" Sorry for any lost comments or bookmarks, my dears!

Mycroft looked uncertainly at himself in the mirror over the vanity in Greg's loo. After picking Greg up at the Pride festivities, he'd driven them to a small farm-to-table restaurant an hour outside London. They'd had too many glasses of rosé over their truly excellent luncheon, and ended up meandering back to London, buzzed, silly and glowingly in love.

 

After a rosé-induced nap, they'd woken in the late afternoon and showered together in Greg's terribly small shower stall. Mycroft was so in love that the lukewarm water, lackluster water pressure and Greg's ocean-spray scented body gel only served to charm him. As if he were on the sort of holiday one would take in one's university days and find terribly fun and adventurous despite the lack of comfort and decent amenities.

 

Not that he would know, having never been on that sort of holiday, even in his university days. Mycroft felt a brief stab of grief for his youth and all the things he'd told himself didn't matter because they were so unattainable that to want them was painful.

 

"I think we should go on holiday this summer," Mycroft said as they toweled off, bumping damp limbs in the narrow loo. "Camping maybe."

 

"How drunk are you?" Greg laughed, standing naked on the bath mat, drying his hair. His voice was muffled until he whipped the towel away. Seeing Mycroft's expression he tilted his head, "You mean it, don't you?"

 

"... Yes..." Mycroft cleared his throat, "I've...never been. I thought it might be rather romantic to lie under the stars with you."

 

"Aw, babe," Greg said tenderly, stepping up behind him and wrapping his arms around Mycroft. He stood on his toes to lean his chin on Mycroft's shoulder and smiled gently into his eyes in the mirror. "I'd love to go camping with you. Kiss all your freckles by starlight."

 

Mycroft blushed hotly, and then shivered when Greg let his hands trail down his chest, brushing though Mycroft's chest hair. Warm palms idled over his stomach and hips, as Greg's eyes held his in the mirror. "Put your pyjamas on and come to bed?"

 

"I rather thought clothes would get in the way of what you were starting," Mycroft said breathlessly.

 

"I wanna see you in them," Greg purred, giving Mycroft's cock a squeeze before he stepped back, depriving him of his warmth. "Just once at least before I rip 'em off you." He sauntered to the door, hips rolling, arse pert and glorious. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he winked over his shoulder. A moment later a colorful bundle of cloth sailed though the open door and startled Mycroft.

 

He'd seen them of course, Greg having delighted in telling him all about his day and showing off his purchases. While he could well imagine Greg's magnificent physique lounging in the low-slung bottoms, exuding sexual magnetism and animal charisma, it was...much harder to see himself managing to not look like a clown.

 

"I'm waiting..." Greg called invitingly and Mycroft swallowed and stepped into them, tying the drawstrings firmly at his waist. With one last grim look into the mirror, he gathered his courage around him and crossed the narrow hallway to the bedroom door.

 

Greg was lying back on the rumpled bedding, cool and sensual as a pasha, eyes dark and as come-hither as they come. His lips parted on a sigh, and he actually wet his lips with his tongue when he caught sight of Mycroft who suddenly felt like a sexual creature, a man of flesh and blood, an object of desire. Relishing the knowledge that Greg wanted him just as desperately as he wanted him, Mycroft let out the breath he'd been unaware of holding, loosened the drawstrings until the bottoms slid down to catch at the crest of his hip bones and let his eyes go heavy-lidded as he strolled into the room.

 

"I believe you said something about ripping these off me?" He purred, brushing his hand up the length of Greg's leg, which sprawled wide in invitation. He met Greg's eyes, gloried in the open-mouthed lust. "Going to kiss my every freckle, were you? I do believe that might take a good deal of time, love. A very long time..." He leaned over, breath ghosting over Greg's parted lips, "Best get started..."

 

 


End file.
